


At Last

by Zagzagael



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zagzagael/pseuds/Zagzagael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Comment fic for the "Spin the Bottle" meme at livejournal - http://bleodswean.livejournal.com/137567.html</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Last

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meridianrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianrose/gifts).



_I would be the ocean to your shore_ , she thinks to herself. Watching him across the table, through the smoky candle light. It is late, or early. Too late for all the lives they’ve lived, the lives of others whom they loved. Still early for the new lives who have yet to make themselves known, all flesh and blood and limited lengths. Some not yet born, some just beginning to grow into adulthood. They have both lived eleven, twelve human lifetimes. And the joy and pain associated with such longevity has been exponential, not additive. And that is staggering and something she cannot, will not, dwell upon. 

But through all the years they have never, not once, approached one another in any way other than familial. He is her brother, she is his sister. He keeps this line drawn between them and it does keep them separated. She has honored it because he seems to need this line, a lifeline, the guideline mountaineers string between one another, the thin filament a spider spins out, the rope just long enough to break the neck at the end of a fall. 

They have been drinking a dark and luscious vintner’s blend. It is sweet and smooth. Almost better than blood. Almost. They are three bottles in, just the two of them, and he lays one of the beautiful black glass bottles on its side and spins it lazily. She hungrily watches his long fingers, knuckles, the elegant bend of his wrist on the tabletop. 

“Do you think this game is still played?” he asks her, a sidelong glance.

She does not even have to consider. She nods. “Yes, of course. A silly provocation to justify what the flesh wants.”

“Longs for,” he agrees. And sets the bottle spinning wildly, a compass needle. He hovers his hand over it, waiting. And then brings it down on the glass, stops the bottle as it points across the table from him, indicating her still heart. His gaze lifts, purposeful, intent, direct and she gasps.

She reaches out both hands and he meets hers with his own. Fingers lacing, palms pressing. The table is narrow enough for him to lean up on his elbows, move himself towards her, body and dark soul. And finally, finally, finally his lips are on hers. His perfect mouth, his eyes sliding partly closed. 

He kisses her, soft and slow and tantalizing in his promise to her. She had not known how very much she wanted him in this way. Now she knows and her heart wakes itself. _At last. At last._


End file.
